In Seven Years in Tibet, Heinrich Harrer described his love affair with Kyirong: "I shall never cease thinking of this place with yearning," he wrote, "and if I can choose where to pass the evening of my life, it will be in Kyirong." The name itself means "village of happiness", but now that Tibet is in Chinese hands, Kyirong is not so upbeat.

Fortunately, the people around here have never paid much respect to international boundaries. Five centuries ago, a group of them settled just across the border in Nepal. Their village, Bridim, high among the Langtang Himal, sustains the Kyirong culture in a purer form than is now possible in Tibet. Tim Gocher believes that this is the new village of happiness. He fell in love with the place at first sight, and set up Dolma Tours to help bring the people here gently into the 21st century while safeguarding their unique way of life.

And so, one misty February morning, 14 of us - seven tourists, two doctors, two guides, one cook, one journalist and one Buddhist monk - fly out of Kathmandu airport in a series of five-seater helicopters. We clear the polluted Kathmandu valley in minutes and enter a deep and rocky ravine. Terraced paddy fields climb steeply on either side and a single snow-capped peak glows on the horizon. Within half an hour we're flying between mountains, and - too soon - we descend onto a small playing field outside the village of Syabru Besi. Hordes of children appear in the dust below us, dancing in the slipstream, clutching at straws in the wind.

Syabru is the jumping-off point for the Langtang trek, an easy circuit, well supplied with hotels and teahouses. We're not taking the conventional route into the national park, but continuing north, to Bridim. The only road here ends at an army checkpoint, which monitors comings and goings in the park while keeping one eye towards the Tibetan border. The only way on is by foot.

In the morning, as we trek through rhododendron forests, watching the black-faced langurs dangle from trees in the distance, I chat to Losang, our resident Buddhist monk. He explains that the five-coloured prayer flags we see everywhere mark the continuing influence in these parts of the primitive Bon religion. Whereas Buddhists are forbidden to "take refuge" in gods and deities, Bon practitioners are engaged in a constant two-way dialogue with the natural world. These flags flutter out a constant supplication to the spirits. In this setting, where the mountains seem to radiate with their own inner light, it's easy to see why animism still holds sway.

Deep in conversation we arrive at a turn in the path, where some of the local women have erected a sign reading "Welcome Bridim". They lead us through a home-made arch of pine fronds and produce small wooden bowls, into which they pour an innocuous clear liquid. "Ara tungen!" they shout - "Drink Ara!" We're too innocent to know to say "mi tung" - "I don't drink". After a few sips of this home-made rice wine the atmosphere becomes more relaxed, and the women lead us singing down the final stretch of path to the village. We answer their traditional song with a burst of O Come All Ye Faithful. Children run alongside, and the workers take a break from their ploughing to smile at our progress.

Dolma Tours have installed their guests in a pair of lightly modernised village houses with a solar-powered shower block. A small patch of grass becomes a terrace where we take breakfast in the morning and where Losang continues to discuss Buddhism and to lead meditation sessions for those who are interested. During the days that follow we wander around the village, watching the preparations for the New Year festival up at the monastery, and taking regular tea and Ara with the villagers. On a walk across the terraced fields I get embroiled with a couple of oxen and a wooden ploughshare. The ploughman invites me to take a turn. I try to imitate his technique, swishing the cattle with a bamboo rod and shouting "Jojo!" at them. I can't have got it quite right, for the hills echo to the sound of laughter.

The people of Bridim lead a lifestyle that is, in most respects, medieval, and in some ways closer to the Stone Age. They build their houses from the rocks that litter their fields. They wash their clothes in streams and leave them to dry in the sun. They pay their respects to the Lama, and in an emergency they call on the shaman long before they turn to any western medicine. Each house consists of a single upstairs room with an open fire on the floor, walls blackened by wood smoke and a Buddhist shrine piled high with offerings. They believe that the hills are, literally, alive; and at every opportunity they seek to propitiate the spirits of the mountains, streams and forests. Every available surface is chalked over in prayers and symbols, in English, Tibetan and Nepali.

The constant laughter in Bridim goes hand-in-hand with hardship. The two doctors who accompany our group spend their days examining age-old wounds and sores, many of which have become badly infected. This culture makes no link between poor hygiene and disease. As Buddhists, the locals believe that all injuries are the result of a karmic hangover from a past life. As animists, they believe that pain is simply part of the give and take between the people and their land. And as citizens of one of the poorest countries on earth, they simply don't have the facilities to do much about it. There are health workers in the valley, but they're badly trained and poorly supplied, and many villagers would rather see the shaman. Not only are his cures more effective; he puts on a better show.

On our fourth night in Bridim, we get the chance to watch him at work. It is late, and most of the village is crowded into a room that is heady with the smell of wood smoke, incense and marijuana. The shaman is cross-legged on the floor before a makeshift shrine, rocking as he beats a goatskin drum and mutters a chant to himself. His two assistants - the young brothers of his eighth wife - fan the flames and protect him from the throng of admirers.

Eventually he stumbles to his feet. His eyes have rolled far back in his head, and he begins to revolve slowly on the spot. He commands an extraordinary presence in this crowded room, with his technicolour dream coat, his flat black hat and the strings of bells that jangle as he spins. His speed increases until he is whirling feverishly around the room. The villagers find his performance simultaneously hypnotic and hilarious: he is a healer, a magician and an actor - the David Blaine of the Himalayas. Our hostess rushes to unclip the dried meat that is hanging from the ceiling.

The shaman's face has become contorted and ugly, as if he doesn't recognise anyone in the room or know why he's here. He is wrestling with his spirit guides. When one of them rejects him he is thrown violently to the floor. Only the press of people saves him. They force him back to his feet and he looks wildly around, suddenly pulling a poker from the fire and pressing it hard against his tongue. Everyone recoils, awestruck. He seizes a handful of plants and herbs, dunks them in a vat of boiling water and approaches his patient who has knelt on the floor, her upper body bared to him. He beats her across the back with the plants, chanting an incantation. Boiling water sprays the crowd. Tsering, who is standing nearby, says afterwards that the water feels as cold as ice.

In the morning, the smiling patient concedes that, although she enjoyed the party, her back is as painful as ever. Even the shaman admits that, on occasion, his spirit guides would rather refer his customers to the clinic. Yet, for all our western scepticism, we were captivated by his performance, as we have been impressed and touched by the humour and stoicism of the locals.

On departure, there are tearful farewells on both sides. The villagers did well out of us. 10% of profits from Dolma Tours go directly to the village, and in wages and donations we generated over £3,500 for the villagers. But our group did just as well out of them. Their openness and warmth is infectious, and we have become tightly bonded through this shared experience. On our last morning in Bridim we raise our own skein of prayer flags to the benevolent spirits of the place. It is an offering that is part whimsical, part serious, and entirely Tibetan.

Way to go

There are limited spaces available on the following Dolma Cultural Adventures: April 19- May 1 and May 17-29. Book now on 020 7449 9530 or at dolmatours.com and qualify for a late booking offer of £1,099 all inclusive, except flight. Groups are strictly limited to eight people and spaces will be allocated on a first come first served basis.

Gulf Air has daily flights from London to Kathmandu via Abu Dhabi. Return fares start from £330 plus tax (about £35). Flights can be booked through the Gulf Air ticket office on 0870 777 1717, or at gulfairco.com.

Travel advice

The Foreign Office advises that there is currently a high risk of indiscriminate attacks by Maoists, including bomb attacks, in public places throughout Nepal, following the breakdown of a ceasefire in 2003. Areas recently targetted include Thamel, Kathmandu and Pokhara.

The Maoists have warned that they will take unspecified action against the tourist industry in general (hotels, guesthouses, lodges, trekking and rafting organisations) on June 7,8 and 9.

Tourists are advised to be vigilant in public places and to stick to established routes if trekking. More information from the Foreign Office.